I smoke pot, but THIS is ridiculous
Well well InsaneJournal. I guess this is the closest approximation of GreatestJournal available to me in these dark times.

I'm sitting on my bed watching Mike's feet through John's open door. His second toe is the same length as my little finger and he is constantly doing things with them--flexing his toes, picking up things on the floor, tapping them like he's playing piano or his feet are dancing around. Although right now they are still and hovering just off of the floor.

Stormy, beautiful day.

Mike's feet.

Unlike the stormy day pictured above, today, and yesterday, and the day before, were grey and depressing. Are there things to do are there are there things to do. Is there a reason to get out of bed? I suppose there is: to transfer my reading of Neal Stephenson's Zodiac (AN ECO-THRILLER) to the papasan chair in the living room.